


The Ethereal But Indelible Virtue of Trust

by GrilledBeer



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dry Sex, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, Gap Filler, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent/Child Incest, Rough Sex, Seduction, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3922009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrilledBeer/pseuds/GrilledBeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Records of the love-makings between Legolas and Thranduil, recounted in reverse order: from their last time together before they parted on Ravenhill, to their very first when Legolas was a child and Thranduil a distant King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters mentioned belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. No offense was intended nor profit made at the use of these characters.
> 
> A/N: I'd love to hear if you like the story or not! I planned to include a plot in this story, but it got lost along the way...

Thranduil grabbed Legolas as soon as he approached and pushed him up against the rocky wall of the cave. There was a grunt in response, as his son’s back hit the hard surface, his head knocked by the impact.

The Elvenking came up to Ravenhill as soon as the battle was over, and urgently he swept the caves to look for his only heir and commander of his army. He found him in one of the upper caves, making ready to leave, seeming as if he was running away from a memory. Legolas stopped with his back to his father. Thranduil peered through the opening where his son had come from and understood immediately.

‘I cannot stay.’

Thranduil felt an immense lump of pain forming in his chest at those words, but he quickly made his decision.

‘Go north; find the Dúnedain. There is a young Ranger amongst them. You should meet him. His father Arathorn was a good man. His son may grow to be a great one. He is known in the wild as Strider. His true name, you must discover for yourself.’ It pained him to say these words, but he had to. Legolas, avoiding his eyes, turned away from him slowly and silently. His hair of gold gleamed dully in the darkness, blue eyes filled with a storm of emotions.

Thranduil, biting his lips, deciding that he could not endure his son leaving him without a word, called out gently: ‘Legolas,’ and he opened his arms. Legolas, reading his silent invitation and order, came obediently.

What happened between Thranduil and Legolas was not a relationship in any kind. They were blood. That they were son and sire told enough. They knew not fatherly love, nor carnal desire, for all were one and the same: all were the symbol of their love. They joined in a physical and spiritual union to communicate, and sometimes just to prove what both already knew. Now Thranduil had a message he dearly wanted to deliver.

Legolas was leaving, and Thranduil did not want him to go.

As soon as he was in reach, Thranduil grabbed his slender body tightly and slammed him against the wall. His son felt small and light in his arms as ever, and he was reminded not for the first time of how he came to be like this: Legolas had to inherit his frame from his mother, for Thranduil himself was a strong-built Sinda, and he had a broad set of shoulders and a muscular body. Thranduil blamed any hint of softness in his household on the Queen as a rule. He recalled the memory of his wife with adoration.

But Legolas was not weak in any way.

With that thought, Thranduil captured Legolas’ lips in a fervent kiss, his tongue plundering, raping his mouth. Legolas tried his best to reciprocate, but was soon overwhelmed by Thranduil’s ardor. He clutched at his father’s arms desperately, trying to ground himself on any solidity he could find, giving himself up for his father to find all the pleasure. His quiver and twin knives were rapidly detached from his back, and the bow in his hand followed immediately. Thranduil’s hands moved down and clawed at Lelogas’ breeches, and finally succeeded in freeing his son’s half-erected penis from the fever of the battle out of its confine, but not with much gentleness. Legolas gasped and broke away from the kiss to take a deep, shaky breath. Thranduil got himself out of his own breeches with one hand, while the other cupped Legolas’ brushed cheek. He looked right into the eyes so similar to his own, and found trust where he sought.

Indeed, Legolas was anything but weak.

Without hesitation, Thranduil aligned himself to Legolas’ entrance and pushed in without preparation. He was met with resistance, but still he pushed forward, driven by lust and love, breaking, breaching his son. Legolas screamed as soon as the hot, sudden agony entered his body. He clung desperately to the armor covering his father’s body. He endured the torment out of trust in Thranduil, knowing that it was not punishment, but a part of the coming pleasure.Thranduil, in turn, hissed in pain.

Legolas was leaving, and Thranduil had to let him go.

Even when paralyzed with pain, Legolas sought to accommodate his father, willing himself to relax, parting his thighs to invite the offending shaft in. The slightest movement sent white hot agony up his body and he gasped. Thranduil, sensing the shift from the body in his arms, stroked the golden head lovingly. He resorted to strength and started to withdraw his shaft laboriously, his arms encircling his son’s thin torso, keeping his son in place.

Legolas was leaving, and Thranduil would mourn.

When he was half out of Legolas, he trusted in again: this time he could go in further, but still missed that central spot inside of Legolas. His son was having difficulty gasping the air, his chest heaving dangerously. Thranduil pushed his concern aside, and pulled out again.

‘Adar…’

Legolas called him, the brush on his cheek was gone, leaving him pale and drawn. Thranduil kissed him passionately, and started moving again. He was soon sliding in and out of Legolas with more ease as his son’s channel widened to accept his majestic shaft, albeit with occasional hitches.

He had tried to protect Legolas by keeping him in Mirkwood. Legolas had never been allowed to wander beyond the forest before, and this was the first time he had been out of his home. Despite his centuries-long effort to keep Legolas from harm, trouble still found its way to his doorstep. It was a menacing stranger in the form of dwarves and a Hobbit, and with them came war and treachery. Legolas had grown up significantly, to Thranduil’s grievances, in so short a period. His young son had experienced much of the world throughout the battle. Legolas had been hurt, and so had he.

Thranduil could sense that his pre-cum started to leak, lubricating the passage, and what had once been dry now gained fluidity. Legolas willed his hips to move to meet Thranduil’s thrusts; he knew he was hurting his body more, but it was for his father. Legolas would do everything for Thranduil.

‘Legolas,’

Thranduil buried his nose into the pale locks of hair on Legolas’ shoulder; he could smell the faint scent of rain and leaves, and also blood and battle. He cried softly in pity and regret. He knew that by offering comfort, he would only aggravate Legolas. Therefore, he had to let him go. He had to. The King in him told him to bid him stay, but the father knew what was best. Thranduil knew that Legolas understood the message, but Thranduil still had to put it into action.

As he brushed against Legolas’ prostrate for the first time, the scream that came out of his son was a mix of ecstasy and pain. Then he started to trust so hard that Legolas was lifted from the ground, suspended to the wall solely by the poundings from Thranduil. Even if the rocks dug into his back, Legolas did not protest; instead he clutched around his father’s shoulders, trying to give him more leverage. After pain came pleasure, and when pleasure left it was only pain.

Legolas did not need a shelter anymore; he only needed an escapade. Thranduil could not give him what the outside world could. He was a father, but what Legolas needed was someone he could count on as a friend.

Thranduil fucked him hard; but with reassurance, hard and solid reassurance. By hurting and pleasuring Legolas, Thranduil directly drove the message into his body. He presently used both hands to grab his son’s cheeks and parted them as wide as he could to allow better access. Each time that the tip of his penis brushed against Legolas’ central spot, Thranduil poured all his heart into Legolas, telling him that he loved him, that he would be here, that he would catch him if he fell. He rubbed it in with every stroke of his shaft inside Legolas’ body that no matter no rough it was, his father would love him until the end of time. But he had to let him go even if it was breaking his heart.

The cave echoed the scream of agony and bliss, of hurt and healing.

‘I… I might never be able to hold you again,’

Thranduil grounded out, trying to rein sadness from his voice. Legolas reached up to him with a trembling hand and brushed his ear, his blue eyes filled with tears and silent understanding. His lips trembled but no word escaped. Nonetheless, Thraduil understood: Legolas was feeling the same. They might meet again in the Halls of Mandos, but this could be the last time that Thranduil could feel the solid evidence of the one true gift that he had given to Legolas: his lovely flesh.

Heat was rising, and Thranduil could feel that both he and Legolas were close, as he felt the coiling in his own stomach, and the way his son bit his reddened lips. Legolas’ warmth around him gave him comfort and security; his son sucked him in deeper and deeper, as if he was obsessed with returning the pleasure to Thranduil.

Legolas suddenly covered his father’s mouth with a weak kiss. After a few more hits to the spot, Thranduil made Legolas come with a shudder that shook his entire frame, his scream muffled in his father’s lips. As Legolas climaxed, his channel closed in on Thranduil in spasms, sending waves through his body, tipping him over the edge. He plunged into the body with all his might as Legolas’ body went limp in his arms. This body was his. This body was home.

It did not need to be rough; but the pain only heightened the bliss, and the bliss was the only way known to Thranduil to physically express his love. This could as well be their last time together. However, Thranduil was well aware that he was being selfish as well. He didn’t want Legolas to forget him, if they were not to see each other again in Middle-earth. He also wanted to engraved the possibly last touches of Legolas on his memory. With that, Thranduil came so hard he that saw white, shooting his seed into the body of the creature he most treasured. His orgasm lasted an eternity, and his fluid was voluminous. Then he slumped forward, pinning Legolas between his body and the wall.

When he regained his senses and his breath was back to normal, he realized that Legolas had passed out in his arms, his body almost crumpled on the ground. Thranduil gently lowered his son on his back, noticing the ghastly paleness and pain on his brow, but also bliss and abandon. With most care, Thranduil pulled out of Legolas, wincing at the slurping sound and the loss of warmth. He inspected the opening, and sighed as he found a worrying amount of blood and the milk of his seed dripping out. He also noticed the several bruises and scrapes that were caused by their rough joining on Legolas’ body. Thranduil used the hem of his cape to wipe Legolas clean, and dressed him back into his clothes with reverence, almost as if he was performing a sacred ritual. Afterwards, he cleaned and tucked himself back in. That his son was unresponsive during his ministrations gave him an additional cause for concern.

As soon as he was no longer joined with Legolas, Thranduil was filled with emptiness, and the pain came back to crush at his heart at once. Thranduil took Legolas in his arms and cradled him, rocking gently. He pressed a soft kiss to his brows, trying to ease the pain whose presence showed starkly in the dull light of the cave. He traced the blond hair that was inherited from him, the delicate jawline, and the thin lips. He had to learn to live with this giant chasm in his heart from now on.

After what felt like an eternity, but was in reality but a few minutes, Legolas’ dark lashes finally fluttered open. He cried out when he tried to move, and realized that he was being held in a pair of strong arms. A finger brushed away the lone tear that trickled down his cheek, and his father looked at him with profound concern. Legolas closed his eyes in exhaustion once more.

‘Are you well?’

‘I will be, father,’

As Legolas opened his deep blue eyes again, Thranduil’s heart almost stopped when he saw the amount of trust displayed in them. He was touched by how much his son instinctively and unconditionally trusted him. He leaned down and kissed Legolas with the purest love. To the eyes of others, he might be the cold and heartless Elvenking; but to Legolas, he was just a loving being. The tie that bound them together was that of blood. He was part of Legolas, and Legolas was part of him. Neither of them were replaceable.

Reading the wish on his son’s face, Thranduil helped him up, supporting almost all of his weight. Legolas got stumblingly to his feet, and had to urgently brace himself against the wall to keep from falling. His backside felt torn and battered. He could feel the stickiness with every movement. Thranduil kept a arm around his waist and stooped down to pick up his knives and quiver, then reached across Legolas’ torso to strap them on. Legolas let go of the wall and fell bodily against his father, embracing him without saying a word. And no word was needed. Thranduil finished arming his son and held him close. Their heat mingled and their heartbeat synchronized.

After staying in that position for a short while, simply cherishing each other’s warmth and love, they both drew away at the same instant. Thranduil handed Legolas his bow, and they stood apart.

With one last lingering look on Thranduil, Legolas turned and left, willing his weak legs to safely carry him. He loved his father, but he could not stay. Now that he had received his father’s parting gift and blessing, he wished to be on his way.

Thranduil said to his back softly, loss and grief taking root in his heart: ‘Your mother loved you, Legolas. More than anything; more than life itself.’

Legolas partially turned; he pressed his hand to his heart, and simultaneously Thranduil did the same. They reached their hands towards each other, sending, leaving their sincerest love. And Legolas was gone.

Thranduil gazed after the small back that had just disappeared. He shut his eyes softly, trying to school his expression, but his face twisted with the pain in his heart. He knew that it was time. He knew that he was no longer part of Legolas’ journey.


	2. The Rewinding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas seduced Thranduil in order to be allowed to take him, with the purpose of proving himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The characters mentioned belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. No offense was intended nor profit made at the use of these characters.
> 
> A/N: Thank you for your feedback for the last chapter! You all made me very, very happy! I went back to edit the misspells and errors. Now, for this chapter, I plan to lighten the mood by putting in some fluff (and sexy fluff I hope!). There is not really a plot to this chapter, and the depth of emotion is not even comparable to the last. But well, I intend for it to be fun and seductive, and it can also be read as a prequel to my other one-shot, 'Trophy'. ...Ah, I don't think I am good at writing notes. I just want to say that I hope you enjoy this chapter as well, and please do not hesitate to tell me what you think!

Legolas put the damp whetstone on the sturdy wooden table and brought out his knives.

He could hear the door open into this secluded area in the armory. It was late at night, and tomorrow he and his patrol would be leaving at the coming of dawn, thus there was only one visitor that he could think of.

Thranduil entered and stilled as soon as he laid his eyes upon Legolas.

‘And what may be the cause of this indiscretion?’ His father inquired, his face the cold mask of impassivity. Legolas did not have any clothes on, except the light tunic that fell half way down his bare thighs, covering only the part that decency bid hidden and nothing more. The tunic was held carelessly at his waist by a silk sash. He motioned at the healing laceration on his left thigh that he had sustained earlier that day in a skirmish with spiders.

‘I just came back from the healers: they have applied salve to it, so it should mend within a few hours.’ Legolas laid one of the twin knives on the table, carrying the other in his hand. ‘It would undo all their work if I cover it.’ Besides, there were not many people around and he was too exhausted to care. Legolas was normally discreet, but he had no reason to be in front of his father.

‘All the more reason for you to delegate tomorrow’s patrol to others, as you might risk tearing your wound. You just came back from a three-day patrol, after all.’ His father said, like Legolas knew he would if he had to go on patrol injured. There was concern in his voice, and there was something else. Legolas could feel that Thranduil’s eyes never left his exposed flesh.

Then a thought stuck him.

‘No, father. There are dwarves in Mirkwood. I will make certain that they are captured and brought to you.’ Legolas did not look at his father but set to work.

He positioned the first knife on the whetstone, the blade almost parallel with the surface of the table. He pressed his fingers securely on the blade at both ends and pushed, using the strength from his shoulders. He started to sharpen his first knife; gliding it across the whetstone forward and backward, his torso jerking back and forth in keeping with the movement. Stray locks of hair fell down and he carelessly tucked them back behind his ears. After he had repeated this dozens of times he stopped, brought the blade close to his face to inspect its sharpness, and set to perfecting it again. As he urged his body on, his tunic slipped down one shoulder, leaving it bare and a nipple was marginally revealed. Thranduil watched him quietly, but Legolas could feel the intensity of his gaze.

His legs, though planted firmly on the floor, shifted jerkily when he moved. He was aware that his plain buttocks were on full display for Thranduil’s eyes, flexing in time with his movements. When he stopped to look at his handiwork again, Thranduil broke the silence with a controlled voice: ‘You do not have to go. You are not the only warrior capable of rounding up a company of dwarves.’

‘It is time you trusted me, father.’ Legolas said in earnestness. He had been the commander of their army for centuries but his father still worried for him, at least in private. Legolas was not angry, only exasperated. He put the finished blade down, and reached across the table for the other, hitching up his tunic.

‘It is not about trust, Legolas.’ Thranduil replied stiffly. Legolas cast a glance at his father to gauge his emotions. Satisfied with what he saw, he turned back and started on the second blade. But as he was moving rhythmically the sash at his waist was unknotted and fell off, leaving the front of his tunic open, exposing skin from his throat downwards unobstructed. Unwilling to lose the momentum, Legolas left it be and continued without pausing. He put more strength in every gliding, straining his shoulders and wrists, wanting to make a perfect work.

When he was done, he kissed the sharpened blade in his hand tenderly, as he would a lover. This blade and its twin had saved his life and others’ for centuries, and for that he was grateful. As soon as he put the finished blade down, his wrist was grabbed and he was pulled against a strong chest. Thranduil’s mouth crushed into his, stealing his breath away, replicating the former scene with the blade. When they broke apart, Thranduil rasped, ‘Since when did you learn to seduce?’

And seduction it was. Legolas moved away from his father’s arms, peeling his tunic off slowly to reveal his skin. Thranduil glared at him, mesmerized as if by treasure. Legolas was aware that he was shapely, especially around the backside. He had made sure to display how his waist twisted and how his hips moved, emphasizing these delicate and almost frail parts as Thranduil observed him work.

Thranduil’s face was now flushed and he was breathing heavily. Legolas could tell that his father was aroused, and that confirmation made his organ fill in response. Thranduil snatched the tunic from Legolas’ hand and threw it away. The first thing that he attacked was the pert little nipple that he had glimpsed earlier. He had his teeth on one, grazing hard enough to pique, but not enough to hurt; his fingers took care of the other. Legolas groaned deep in his throat and arched into Thranduil.

Legolas was suddenly backed against the work table, the larger frame of Thranduil pinning him down. Legolas’ hands moved to undress his father. Noticing that Thranduil was clad in his formal robes and still wore his jewelry, Legolas paused for a split second.

‘What troubles you, my son?’ Thranduil looked up from a wet nipple, his free hand travelled down to a buttock.

‘You are dressed in your kingly attire, father,’ Legolas replied and resumed undressing him. Once he had untied the laces on his father’s velvet breeches, he pulled them down, revealing an alert erection.

‘I had held late court until I came to find you, but what’s the matter with that?’ Legolas hesitated, but finally answered.

‘You look so majestic that I feel like a primitive in rut…’ Legolas’ hair was in disarray, and he couldn’t be more naked and eager. His father, by comparison, appeared glorious and majestic. Legolas was almost ashamed of his earlier seduction. He opened his mouth to say more, but was silenced by a kiss.

Thranduil drew back and looked into his eyes. ‘Never say that again. You know how I behold you.’ His long fingers played with the blond strands so similar to his own. Legolas fell silent again, but Thranduil prompted him by drawing him closer with a hand on a buttock.

Legolas bit his lips, but his expression was determined. He lifted his eyes to meet Thranduil’s gaze and asked with conviction: ‘Will you let me have you tonight, father?’

Thranduil was genuinely surprised, but recovered fast and replied just as staunchly. ‘No, I will not.’ Seeing the expected hurt in Legolas’ deep blue eyes, he explained: ‘And the reason is not because I am your king and father; it’s simply because I do not want you to.’

‘So it is about trust. You do not trust me to give you pleasure.’ Legolas, lowering his eyes, stated rather than questioned. Though there was a reason that Thranduil wanted to always be the one to pleasure his son, seeing that gesture, Thranduil couldn’t help but wavered. In truth, he wanted to let his son have him, body and mind. Remembering how Legolas had moved when he whetted his knives earlier, Thranduil finally gave in to the temptation. He admitted to himself that the seduction had done its work; he would not have consented this readily otherwise. Even now Thranduil could feel how he longed for his son to move like that on top of him; inside of him.

‘Fine. I will allow it.’ Thranduil conceded, and Legolas looked up with incredulity. ‘And do not doubt my trust in you again.’ He added sternly and, flipping them around, positioned himself against the table, spreading his legs. Legolas was overcome with gladness for a chance to prove himself.

He picked up a vial of weapon oil from the table and poured some on his fingers. He had never been in this position before, but he had learned about its mechanism. He reached down between them, his father’s hands both resting on his hips, and found the entrance. When Legolas pushed his first finger in he could feel how tight Thranduil was, and his father’s breath caught, though he said: ‘You did not hurt me, so continue…’

Legolas pushed in deeper, seeking the targeted spot which he knew would give his father immense pleasure. Eventually, he brushed it by accident, and Thranduil gasped openly, fingers digging into his hips. Legolas knew enough to add another finger, easing his father open. When he had three fingers inside Thranduil, he could feel his own organ throbbing with want, ready to replace the digits.

Legolas judged his father sufficiently prepared and withdrew his fingers. He locked gaze with Thranduil one last time as a final confirmation. Finding trust and encouragement from him, Legolas covered himself in oil and pushed his way in.

Both of them gasped in unison at the unprecedented pleasure. Legolas was engulfed by heat; Thranduil experienced some discomfort, but was soon overwhelmed by the feeling of being filled. Legolas held himself back from plunging in and let his father adjust, kissing his neck with loving tenderness. When the passage felt more welcoming, Legolas started to move.

He made certain to hit that one spot every time he pushed in, for the last thing he wanted was to disappoint his father. Pleasure was all about stimulation, so Legolas wanted to keep stimulating his father without lapse. He braced one hand on the table, while the other he used to stroke Thranduil’s sex that was pulsating between their hot bodies in synchronization with the established rhythm. Legolas pushed forward with all his strength, straining every muscles in his body with every plunge and withdrawal. Each time that Thranduil gasped in ecstasy he felt rewarded. He maintained the repeated attack to the spot, stimulating his father who bucked bodily. The stimulation gave him power. He felt ferocious.

Thranduil had a hard time holding back moans of pleasure. Legolas, despite his inexperience, truly knew what he was doing. He gripped the slender hips hard enough to leave bruisings and pulled his son closer, if that was possible. The slapping of fleshes filled their ears. Every time Legolas hit his secret spot that sent shivers through his body he loved him more and more, as if his love knew no limit.

Seeing his son wholly intent on giving him pleasure made him incredibly hard. Legolas had used all his strength, just like how he had worked on his knives. The muscles on his son’s slim arms was taut while he hold on to the edge of the table. Legolas’ fragile, slender waist was stretched as he strained to move, and Thranduil feared he might shatter the hipbones if he gripped too hard. While one leg was firm on the floor, Legolas had his injured one folded between them, his shin braced against the table between Thranduil’s legs for extra leverage. At this sight, Thranduil could not help but let his hands roam the slight body, teasing the nipples, kneading the lovely buttocks, tangling in the gold locks, his mouth sucking the pale throat greedily like he had desired to as he watched him earlier. Legolas’ harmless appearance could not be more deceiving: his son was dangerous and resilient. Thranduil devoured Legolas hungrily with the knowledge that he would not break.

Thranduil meant for Legolas to take control this night, but the stimulation was driving reason out of his mind. Recalling Legolas’ comment about being a primitive in rut, he ached harder in Legolas’ moving hand. His son looked like carnal cravings personified, driving in to his body wantonly, his body devoid of any robe or jewelry, while one hand never stopped stroking his penis earnestly. Before Thranduil knew what he was doing, he was already grabbing Legolas on the hips and pulled him even more snugly into himself. Being the larger and stronger of the two, Thranduil ended up using Legolas to pleasure himself, aiding his son in hitting his mark.

Legolas, overpowered, was reluctant at first. He knew that his father would not willingly let him prove himself, hence the seduction. He wanted to show his father that he could take care of him, that he could do what he set out to do, that he would be able to capture the dwarves. Eventually, he relinquished control, counting his task accomplished: for was he not presently inside his father, driving into him with a promise of bliss? His feet were now both swept from the ground and he was pulled up onto the table. Together they moved; Legolas thrusting forward; Thranduil moving to meet him and pulling Legolas into himself.

When climax came, it was like nothing Thranduil had experienced before. At the pinnacle of his orgasm, he spilled his seed in Legolas’ hand, soiling his own clothing, crying for his son. Legolas followed as if on cue, embedded deep inside the closing channel, and cried out breathlessly: ‘Adar!’

When the wave of ecstasy was passed, Legolas moved out of Thranduil as gently as he could. Thranduil was left pleasantly sore, and tightened his arms around the body of his son. He settled him in his lap and pressed a kiss on his glistening forehead.

‘Thank you, adar.’ Legolas said, his voice muffled as he snuggled into Thranduil’s throat.

‘For what? You were the one who tried so hard to give me pleasure.’ Thranduil placed his chin on the bowed head and stroked the bare back.

‘For letting me prove myself.’ A hand clutched at Thranduil’s robe, and Legolas’ voice trembled slightly. He could hear his father sigh.

‘Why do you make me repeat myself over and over again? I told you that you have no trust to win: it’s all yours.’

Legolas, his head still on his father’s shoulder, looked up, confused. ‘So why would you not want me to go and capture the dwarves? The injury is trifling.’

‘Because I know you can do it. But I also know you will push yourself, like you have done for many centuries, and I don’t want to see you push yourself, Legolas.’ Then Thranduil added curtly, looking right into Legolas' eyes: ‘The same goes for my reluctance to let you give me pleasure. Look what you have done to yourself.’ Thranduil touched Legolas’ thigh gently. Legolas looked down and noticed for the first time that the wound was reddened and stung when he moved.

Legolas kissed the side of his father’s neck in silent acceptance, feeling loved. His father then bent down and whispered into his ears: ‘And also because you are very erotic when you are determined. I fear I will not be able to restrain myself in front of others, like I could not this night.’

Legolas brushed and made to protest, but his father would not let him. He was caught in a kiss once again. When their lips parted, Thranduil said: ‘You are exhausted. Go get whatever rest you can; I will clean up.’

He accepted Thranduil’s outer robe and picked up his sharpened knives. When Legolas said, ‘I love you, Adar,’ Thranduil gave him a rare smile. As he turned his back and walked out into the hallway, his father’s voice drifted to him.

‘Be safe, my love.’


	3. The Retrospection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil walked in on a freshly-fucked Legolas but would not admit jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The characters mentioned belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. No offense was intended nor profit made at the use of these characters.
> 
> A/N: As always, thank you all for spending your precious time on this little story! I'm gladdened! During the past week, I have been plagued with an enormous workload (no, it's not done yet, but I can't continue to live my life without writing). I am deeply humbled by the fact that some of my favorite fan fiction authors are reading my own inept work (yes, I am talking to you *winks*)! Special thanks goes to my good friend Ariya who takes the trouble to ask about my update! Hope everyone enjoy this chapter! (And if anyone's wondering: the Chapter Titles do not mean anything. But at least it's better than Chapter 1, 2, 3... right?)

Before Thranduil opened the door into Legolas’ chamber, he was in a sombre mood. In court, they had talked about finally sending a patrol composing only of proven warriors into Dol Guldur. The shadows had been spilling out from that part of their once pure forest. Even after the loss of the Queen, until now they had deferred action and remained on guard for fear of losing more lives… It was time they did something, and they would. Legolas, despite his role as their leader, however, would stay behind to safeguard the continued existence of the realm.

But when Thranduil entered, his mood had deteriorated from dark to darkest.

The room smelled of the presence of another. Legolas’ clothing articles were strewn about the room. The elf himself was sprawled across the messy bed, his stark nakedness partially covered by the rumpled sheets. Legolas’ deep blue eyes were half-lidded and his youthful face was dazedly open.

Thranduil shut the door.

The explosion from the slammed wooden panel jolted Legolas awake. He blinked absently before finally noticing his father’s presence. A sweet smile touched his lips when he saw Thranduil, but faded immediately when he took in his father’s countenance.

‘Adar…’

Thranduil knew that Legolas had taken lovers before they first commenced their union, but not after. Right in front of his eyes was the evidence that proved otherwise.

‘Adar, please hear me out…’

Legolas pleaded, his face apprehensive. He hurriedly got up and made to approach his father. Unprepared for the soreness, he could not stop the involuntary wince that escaped his lips. Thranduil’s heart clenched at Legolas’ display of discomfort, but he brushed it off.

‘Is that anguish I behold on your face, my son? Tell me, what could be the cause of it?’ Thranduil said, his voice and expression betraying nothing. Legolas paled and stopped at the foot of the bed.

‘I never meant to receive you like this, father… Please forgive me.’ Legolas averted his gaze. His father had promised to visit him after fulfilling his sovereign duty. Legolas knew he made the mistake of dozing off covered in remnants of his earlier deed. His clothes were behind Thranduil on the other side of the room, and he felt completely vulnerable standing glaringly before his father.

‘So you never meant for me to find out about your little business? How very clever of you, Legolas. But have you forgotten that I am King?’

Legolas attempted weakly. ‘Father, I…’

‘Don’t you dare make excuses when you have semen dripping down your thighs. Your words hardly sound convincing.’

Thranduil’s comment on Legolas’s obscenity made him flush in shame, for it was undeniable. On the inside of his thighs were apparent streams of thick, opaque fluid that continued to come out of the hidden opening and fell steadily down his calves. Thranduil took in the appearance of his son silently. Fresh marks were scattered on the pale skin: one red circular mark was located on a creamy shoulder, both nipples showed signs of abuse, and the slender waist seemed bruised. Legolas’ lips were tellingly swollen; used. Thranduil refused to reflect on how they were caused and turned his eyes away.

‘There is no need to be angered, father. I should have informed you first; for that, I truly apologize.’ Legolas looked sincerely apologetic. Self-consciously, he attempted to wipe away the mess between his legs, but succeeded only in smearing it uglily.

‘Angered? Nay, Legolas, not angered: I am betrayed. You are mine, and you are not to give what is mine away.’

‘How can you claim that you are not angry, for it is all on your face. But I did not give myself away. I was only…’  


‘Your stupidity is becoming the greatest source of frustration!’ Legolas was cut short and flinched at the bellow.

He retreated cautiously and was at a loss for words. Thranduil’s words hurt him profoundly. It was his father who would not listen. Legolas was ready to do everything for him, but Thranduil just would not trust him. He did not understand why his father would try to tell him what to do or what not to do with his body, since their bond were untouched and unbreakable to begin with.

They were in his room, so there was nowhere to which he could temporarily escape and lie in wait until Thranduil calmed down. Still, Legolas considered breaking away: fleeing nakedly along the cavernous hallway was hardly becoming a Prince, but it was his only option.

At that conclusion, Legolas bolted, aiming for the door. This move proved ill-calculated, as it was fuel to his father’s rage.

Thranduil reached out and seized Legolas roughly, locking him in his arms. Legolas struggled at first, but realizing that he was completely outmatched, gave up. His body tensed in fear, his face showing only saddened submission. Thranduil lifted one of Legolas’ lean legs up and pulled his son against himself. He assaulted the previously marked slender neck, biting and tearing at the delicate skin ferociously with his teeth like a predator and did not stop even when he tasted blood. A whimper drifted into his ears but he ignored it. Freeing his madly pulsating self from its confine with one hand, Thranduil used the other to claw at the lifted buttock, nails digging into the softness.

Thranduil promptly and forcefully penetrated Legolas. The hot channel sucked him in more readily than usual as a result of it having been recently visited. He pumped into Legolas, feeling disgusted with the unknown and unwantedlubrication that had been left behind. Legolas’ hands frantically reached up to remove Thranduil's mouth from his bleeding throat, but Thranduil brushed them away. He snapped his jaw punishingly, eliciting a pained cry that sent vibration through his lips. He manipulated the smaller body by repeatedly crushing its backsides into his shaft with both hands, impaling it with himself. Arriving at his peak, Thranduil mindlessly bit down on the damaged throat to hold the body in place. When he finally came, he made sure to inject every single drop of his kingly semen into the shivering body.

When the orgasm was passed, Legolas was pushed away unceremoniously. He staggered a few steps back but managed to stay on his feet. Then he could feel it again: the familiar feeling of fluid gushing out of the sore core of his body as the plug was pulled out. It was wet and warm on his skin; and uncontrollable. As it dripped onto the floor, his tears followed suite.

Thranduil eyed his own semen coming out from his own property critically and felt triumphant. His territory had been re-conquered, as symbolized by the flooding of the white liquid. But when he noticed the silent tears on the sorrowful face, he felt a stronger desire to hurt.

‘I can see that you no longer desire me. You should have the decency to admit it instead of twisting your words.’ Thranduil accused, ignoring the contracting in his chest.

Defeated, Legolas remained silent. It hurt his feeling to have been used like an object. He desperately needed his father to understand, but he did not have anything to say. He had lost any will to fight. But he could not stop the tears.

Thranduil waited for Legolas to react to the taunt. But Legolas did not and kept his gaze on the floor. When Thranduil’s patience ran out, he grabbed an arm and jerked the body violently. ‘Speak! Speak of how much you care for your lovers! Speak of how much you desire their touch rather than mine!’

Legolas, now angered by the accusations, tried to pry his arm away relentlessly. The tears never left his face. ‘What about your long history of passionate encounters? What about mother?!’

Thranduil instantly snapped. ‘How dare you use that tone with me? None of them were like you! Not even your mother!’

‘This person was not like you either!’

‘Oh, was he not!?’ Thranduil growled. Legolas only bit his lips, defiantly refusing to answer. Thranduil pressed angrily. ‘I’m asking you: Was. He. Not.’

With another rough jerk, Legolas had to obey. One look at the King and anyone could tell that he was furious and unyielding. And when the King was furious and unyielding there was nothing one could do to pacify him other than to obey. Although unwilling to submit, Legolas prayed this to be the last chance to make him listen. ‘He was kind and gentle.’ The grip around his arm tightened and Legolas yelped, but he continued nonetheless. ‘He will join the first patrol to Dol Guldur tomorrow… Knowing the stake of this venture, he confessed his desire for me and I granted it. I offered him the service of my body, but not my heart …It belongs to you, Adar.’

Looking into Legolas’ eyes, Thranduil could only find sincerity and love. Then he realized that he had been making false assumptions all along. The thought almost broke his heart. He took his son into his arms and Legolas returned the embrace readily, accepting him despite the hurt he had inflicted. Thranduil brought their lips together in a loving and passionate kiss, conveying his boundless love through action. He trailed down to press a tender kiss at the mutilated throat, making Legolas hiss involuntarily. Then he carried Legolas to bed.

He laid his son on his back gently and crawled on top of him, placing both forearms next to the marked shoulders. Realizing that the other person had a thing for hurting Legolas just like himself, he grew maddeningly hard. Looking down, though the appearance was almost identical except for the fierce blue eyes that belonged to the Sindarin blood and the flat torso, he did not see his wife in his son. He saw only his love; himself.

When he entered Legolas this time, it was with much more gentleness. The passage was already slick with ample lubrication and his movement was facilitated. He took Legolas into his hand and pumped him with the same rhythm as was being orchestrated by his own sturdy hips. His thrusts were steady and certain. Legolas clung to his biceps and opened up for him. Thranduil nudged Legolas’ sweet spot with the mastery of one who was accustomed to this body. The end was preluded by erratic poundings; Legolas was writhing and screaming. When they both came in unison, all was forgiven and forgotten.

Thranduil drew an exhausted Legolas, having been come into severally, in an embrace and placed his son’s head on his own arm for support. He cradled the sharp jaw in adoration.

‘Can I know who this person is?’

‘No, you cannot.’

‘Why him?’

Legolas searched for the answer in his blissfully empty head. In his daze, he vaguely registered his father’s soft caress. ‘He was an old friend. I wish I could be there by his side… But I also wanted to comfort him before this fateful journey, the way you had comforted me all those years ago.’

Thranduil, remembering the day Legolas was referring to, widened his eyes in pleasant incredulity. He then tightened his embrace and hugged Legolas close. Legolas called slurrily. ‘Adar…’

‘What is it, love?’

‘What did you mean when you said that I was not like mother?’

Thranduil, in turn, took his time to search for the answer. He sighed and rubbed the golden head with his cheek. ‘She held my heart, but you and I are one.’

‘I’m sorry, Adar, for…’

Thranduil silenced him with a soft shh. ‘It was my fault. I was foolish and unreasonable. I should not have doubted your trust.’

And he knew that he spoke the truth. He was King and he was possessive; he was King but he was jealous. He did not want to admit his jealousy. Barely had it crossed his mind that his son had given up his body and possibly his heart to another, did he feel completely hopeless. He was also enraged with himself, above all, by the fact that he was driven into self-denial at the merest hint of Legolas’ betrayal.

Thranduil was aware that Legolas might take lovers again in the future. Though it pricked him with jealousy, he had to concede this much liberty to Legolas.

‘I was mad at you because of the effect you have on me. But I will always trust you with all my heart, Legolas.’

His son had grown quiet and his breathing was soft and deep, but Thranduil continued anyway.

‘Only know that without you, I would cease to exist.’


	4. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil received the scar from the dragon and shut himself away. Legolas was worried and tried to comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The characters mentioned belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. No offense was intended nor profit made at the use of these characters.
> 
> A/N: Hello again! Thank you all, readers! Actually, this fic is a little bit experimental: I've never written smut before, nor A/N, nor replied to comments for that matter. I am grateful to all for sticking around and for being the reason I want to write another and another chapter. That said, although this chapter does not mention 'trust', the main theme can't hit any closer (I hope). Is not dependence trust? What about when you receive joy from someone? Let me know what you think about it!

Waking the dragon from slumber was a mistake. The Great Serpent was destructive; his fire burned far and wide. Thranduil himself was scorched by dragon fire. In the end, they were forced to retreat.

Back inside his palace, Thranduil stayed in his chambers and denied all audience.

Legolas had been deeply concerned. His father had barricaded himself not only behind guarded doors but also within his mind. Legolas pleaded with the King’s personal guards to let him in. The guards were steadfast to his father’s order at first, but finally gave in, for they themselves were worried about the King as well.

Legolas opened the door as soundlessly as he could and slipped inside. He had expected to find his father resting in bed, but the room was proper, as if it had not been inhabited for a while. The hearth was unlit, even when it was well into the high of winter, and the room was cloaked in coldness. Legolas searched the chambers, his worry ever growing. Eventually, he found Thranduil in the balcony, facing out towards the woods.

“Adar…” Legolas called out in a soft voice, but Thranduil still was startled. The King flinched visibly and tensed up.

“Leave. Nobody is allowed an audience.” The answer was frigid, and the King seemed to be swallowed up by the shadow. He did not turn back to Legolas.

“I did not come to seek an audience, father. It has been two days since our return, but you never left your chambers. I am deeply concerned: please let me stay with you.” Legolas spoke kindly and approached the erect figure. To his greater concern, his father moved away from him.

“Do not come near me, I warn you, or I will have to guards haul you out.” The empty warning was what worried Legolas more: his father had always been a person of action. However, it also gave Legolas confidence. He crossed the gap between them in two strides, and looped his arms around his father from behind. Thranduil stiffened at the touch and attempted to pull away, but Legolas would not let him.

“Father, please let me help.”

A cold hand reached up and picked Legolas’ hands away. “Leave.”

Dejected, Legolas bit back tears. But he wouldn’t give up. “No, I will not leave you. Not in this time of loss and grief. Please let me be of use to you.” And he turned his father to face him as gently as he could. The King allowed this reluctantly.

This time, Legolas was finally able to behold the new sight of his father. The left side Thranduil’s beautiful face was burned to the bones, exposing sinews and boiled muscles, in addition to the cavity that had been his cheek. One blue eye was dulled, and a mass of hair was crisped. The extensive scorch mark trailed down his neck to his accented collarbones, and was hidden under the silk garment. Fearing what he might see, but all the more what he did not know, Legolas opened his father’s clothes and revealed the wound. Thranduil’s pearly skin was marred with a melted mass of flesh, and his left arm under the clothing was all but charred.

This new sight left Legolas wordless. It broke his heart to see his once beautiful father so severely hurt and sullied. Physical alterations, to Elves, were taken bitterly: they lived for an eternity and would carry scars until the end of time. Legolas would have willingly given up his own health to restore his father to perfection, but he knew that was impossible. His musings must have shown on his face, for Thranduil’s one eye grew harder. Only when his father drew his clothes back and moved away, was he brought back to reality.

“Satisfied? Now leave. I am already over-filled with disgust for myself that there was no place left for yours.” Thranduil’s words were meant to bite. Had his wife been alive, she would have done everything to heal his hurt. The Queen would have used every magic she had in order to remove the injury — to remove the memory — even at her own expense. Thranduil felt completely alone in the world.

His father’s rejection awoke in Legolas the need to step up and embrace him once again. “You are beautiful.” Legolas could feel himself filling at the proximity and the familiar scent. He had to make his father see what was in front of his eyes. He pleaded desperately. “I need you. Your presence plainly aroused me.”

Thranduil was unconvinced: how could one as blemished as himself be called a beauty? Was he even desirable now? “I am beautiful no longer, unless you have a twisted affinity for monsters.”

Legolas rubbed himself against Thranduil’s thighs urgently. “I don’t care. I only need you. I beg you to put yourself inside my body, monstrous or otherwise.”

Then it hit Thranduil that his son was hard for him, marred as he was. He could not help but ask a little uncertainly. “Do you really?”

“Yes. I want to come to completion only with your guidance.” Thranduil could feel himself harden in response, despite his self-doubt and insecurity. They stumbled to the bed while helping each other out of the clothing. Legolas whimpered when their erection brushed lightly.

“Are you sure…?” Thranduil asked for the last time when they were settled on the mattress: he had looked into the mirror, and ‘repulsive’ was not enough to describe his reflection. Legolas silenced him with a passionate kiss and straddled his lap. When they broke apart, his son only said: “Be silent, or I will have to tie you down and ride you myself.” Thranduil’s heart quickened and a moan escaped his lips.

Legolas briefly prepared himself with his own spit, writhing on top of Thranduil. The King looked at the fair being and licked his lips involuntarily: Legolas stretching himself open for him was a delicious sight. Only when his son positioned his entrance above his erection, did he notice that he was fully hard. All thoughts of self-pity left his mind momentarily and he concentrated solely on the body on top of him.

Thranduil pushed up promptly. A long-suppressed feeling assaulted the King. He made love to Legolas with all the lust he had for the dragon’s horde. He thought of inaccessible gold and jewels that filled halls after halls under Erebor. He pounded into the warmth lustfully, and thrust after thrust he drove, thinking of the treasure that could never be his. His lust was insatiable, and it was in truth unsatiated, for even as Legolas came with a cry and fell against his chest he was still filled and hard. He picked up the limp body to rub himself away greedily. After a moment Legolas was hard once again, and moved his hips to accommodate his father. They kissed passionately, tongues mingling, and Legolas sucked at his lower lip. But Thranduil found no release.

Thranduil flipped them over and rolled Legolas on his side for better angles. He was now gripped with fear, for he realized how close he had come to losing Legolas on his foolish mission to take possession of the treasure. He recalled the sight of Legolas facing the dragon, an arrow aimed at the beast. Legolas could have been felled as easily as any other elves. Thranduil pushed his weeping erection into his son’s body and held on to the frail hipbones. Legolas gripped the sheets tightly and arched his whole body. Thranduil’s strokes were now heavy, imprinting dents into the inside of Legolas as a way to confirm that he was real, that he was here. The thought of living alone for an eternity without the treasure, and even worse, without Legolas almost drove him mad. He pulled out completely and pushed all the way in, and repeated this rhythm, never staying inside the warmth for too long. His son squirmed helplessly every time he was entirely sheathed, and his backside mourned whenever he left, only to come back in again. Somewhere along the way Legolas had come all over his stomach for the second time, but Thranduil failed to notice.

Thranduil was still rigid and almost mad with sensation. He sheathed himself once more inside Legolas, who was almost senseless by now. His son’s inactivity made him cringe in fear of isolation, and the release that he sought seemed to elude him even further. He bent Legolas’ unresponsive body into the mattress and plunged at him madly, not really sparing a thought that he was crushing his weight down onto his son. He was unnaturally hard, but a heaviness in his chest kept him from coming and made him all the more desperate. He pulled Legolas flush against his chest like a lifeline, seeking consolation and aid. In his desperation, tears came to his eyes. With tears came the knowledge that he would be forever blind in one eye and maimed in his left half, that his majesty had been permanently compromised by his foolishness. Grief consumed him, and a sob escaped his throat.

Legolas was roused after a while, with his father still driving into him like he was suffocating. His father must have been continuously seeking release for some time now, for Legolas felt disorientated. Grief also took him at this realization and he gently touched his father’s burned arm. He kissed the wound with all his love. His father’s thrusts lagged slightly when he noticed that he had awaken. Legolas used this opportunity to try to crawl out from under the larger body. With utmost patience, Legolas finally succeeded in settling his father on his back, with himself sitting in his lap, never breaking contact.

“Please remain calm, father. I will care for you. You are not alone.”

Legolas’ words soothed Thranduil’s heart. When the King finally stopped moving, his own erection ached and felt alien to him. Legolas leaned in for a sweet kiss and sat back up. Only then did Thranduil realize that he had despaired for Legolas to convince him that he was still needed. His body needed to feel that his son still desired him.

“Not even the Valar can change the past.”

Legolas raised his body and crushed it down. The warmth enveloped Thranduil like a heavy, comfortable cloak. His son bounced back up and came down again firmly, embracing him. Legolas rode his father with all the passion and sincerity in his heart.

“But I will accompany you into eternity.”

Legolas’ soft buttocks pressed against the sacks at the base of Thranduil’s erection. When Legolas gyrated his hips, Thranduil could feel his pre-come leaking. The tight knot in his chest started to loosen, slowly at first, and quickly the loosening escalated: eventually he could feel himself noticeably wet inside Legolas. His pulse throbbed in his ears, announcing the impending dissolution.

“I will be your eye and arm. I will be the substitution for your loss.”

Legolas’ own erection was waking: he could not believe he was hard once again after coming twice in a short time. With new-grown arousal, his pace increased. He barely noticed his father’s heavy breathing and the hands on his hips guiding him down. He forced himself to look at his father amidst his peak, and realized that his King was crying. His own tears rolled down his face at the sight, and he confessed.

“I love you, so please don’t shut me out and leave me alone.”

Legolas’ heartfelt confession was just what Thranduil had wanted to know. He finally came hard into his son’s body. This heavy orgasm felt sweet and complete, and he knew that the existence of Legolas was the same existence of love. Though his body and spirit were broken, he found light again. He squirted jet after jet of long-inhibited frustration and remorse into Legolas, and received love in exchange. When he at last opened his eyes, Legolas was slumped against him, traces of fresh ejaculation glueing their bodies together. Thranduil was still embedded in Legolas, so he lifted the oblivious body out of his shaft with care. However, the loss of warmth made him shudder, as he was suddenly gripped with desolation. He thoughtfully put himself snugly inside Legolas once again and cuddled his child to his chest. Thranduil never thought he would ever rejoice in safety and dependence, but he did at this moment. He needed his son as much as his son needed him. It was a comforting thought. During the pause there was only the sound of Legolas’ soft breathing, then Thranduil grew hard again.

Thranduil did not know how long they had stayed inside that room, for he stayed as long as he needed, and Legolas stayed with him. They made love whenever both of them were awake, as Thranduil still needed the reassurance that Legolas desired and thus responded to him. Thranduil refused to leave his abode inside Legolas even for a minute. He would allowed Legolas the rest he needed but only with himself inside. Thranduil was older and had much more reserve. Then the King would wake his son up to resume their union over and over again. Legolas did his best to keep up with his father’s need. Thranduil found strength and courage to pick himself up again in Legolas, and Legolas was willing to do anything to keep his father with him. The Queen would have given up anything to turn back time, but his son gave him the power to face the days to come.

Thranduil had been blessed, and was now able to live his life with all its mistakes and burdens, no matter how grave. When he pulled out of Legolas for the last time, he felt invigorated. As he opened the door of his chambers, he was met with a worried face of his butler Galion. Galion’s trepidation turned into relief when the long wait was finally over. He gathered himself and reported dutifully.

“My Lord, the healers are ready to remove your wound whenever you deem fit.” Thranduil touched his hollowed face, and a small smile touched his lips.

“No. Such magic is dangerous to the users, for it is against nature to remove the markings of time. Ask them to put a spell of illusion on it instead, so I will be reminded of all I had lost and gained.”

Galion’s face was impassive, as centuries of his service to the King had thought him to expertly hide his uncalled-for emotions, which in this case was surprise. He bowed gracefully and turned towards the royal chambers to perform his duty.

“He is resting. Leave and come back later.”

At the firm order, Galion bowed again and turned around to leave; but he had a harder time suppressing his smile this time.


	5. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The passing of the Queen drove Thranduil to come face to face with his own pride and fear, but all was eased when he was joined with Legolas for the first time.

The Queen had passed. A deeper darkness had fallen over Mirkwood.

The King felt as if Legolas was lost to him. Not that Legolas had been a merry young thing before her death: he had always been collected, but he had smiled a touch brighter and his laugh had come easier. If not for the perfect memory singular to his kind, Thranduil would have forgotten what it had been like for Legolas to glow with happiness.

The king himself was not unaffected, but he pushed it deep inside. This was not about him: it was a time of confusion and change, and he had to carry on steadily for the realm. The Queen had been what anchored Mirkwood and himself against the impending darkness; now he had to assume that role himself.

But Thranduil was worried about Legolas. He was King and he knew he had to stand tall. Legolas was only Prince and had lost his mother.

He was — had been — connected to his child through the Queen. Without her presence, he felt as if he had known a shadow, the beginning of whose existence he had watched and observed as it was nurtured by time. There was no trust from Legolas’ part. He felt like he had been looking at Legolas through a sheet of glass.

After the royal funeral, Legolas came to him in his ebony attire of office. His gaze was cast aside when he spoke. “My condolences, my lord.”

At first Thranduil was angered. The Queen had been his mother; it was not Legolas’ place to say these words. But when Thranduil collected himself, he reasoned that Legolas could not not say it. It was the only proper thing to say, after all.

But Thranduil could not bring himself to accept his son’s formal expression. He could not bring himself to say anything. He wanted to be the one to offer condolences, not the one to receive.

This was how it was with Legolas: Thranduil never managed to say the words or act in the way he wanted to.

  

When the King chanced upon Legolas talking to fellow warriors, he was stuck with a realization: Legolas never came to him for comfort. After the passing of the Queen, Legolas went back to his normal appearance of the strong and stern Prince of Mirkwood, though he was less quick to smile. But a glimpse of his son’s gentle interaction with his friends showed otherwise: Legolas was quietly seeking company and comfort. Under that pretense of indifference was a deep dark sorrow.

That pushed Thranduil to work even harder on avenging the Queen. He reinforced his army and sent out more patrols to hunt down the wronging orcs. He widened his scouting ground and even into risk areas. He believed that only after punishment was dealt out to the offenders could the sorrow in Legolas’ heart be eased. He did everything he could to make it up to Legolas, to regain his trust.

But the emptiness remained, and the space between them expanded. Legolas, in his turn, went on patrols. Legolas never looked back, Legolas never turned his way, and the silence was heavy.

On a winter’s night a few years after the passing of the Queen, the King threw a big feast to congratulate the troop for destroying a major orc hideout in the north. This great accomplishment had been possible due to the Prince’s adept command and courage, which had saved lives of his people and had costed those of his foes’. The party was designed to be the appreciation of Legolas’ feat, and Thranduil was inwardly reduced to dejection when he saw the Prince slipped out of the feast early.

Thranduil found Legolas in his chamber, fletching his arrows in preparation for tomorrow’s mission. The King felt a pang of sadness. That his young son had lost his mother grieved him enough, but that Legolas also had to go out and fight the same force that had been the very cause of her death one mission after another agonized him even more. The feast that was meant to serve as a respite from battle for his son had been taken with so little interest, as if it was another duty to attend to.

“Father.” Legolas got up to greet him. Thranduil let his eyes linger on the golden creature in front of him. Barely of age, Legolas was one of the youngest elves of this Age. He was slighter than his fellow Third-Age born, though none the less braver or wiser. Thranduil noticed the presence of the thin, invisible glass that separated them again and halted by the door.

_I had wanted you to enjoy yourself at the feast_ , was what he wanted to say; instead he pronounced. “I see that you are eager for more battles.”

Legolas cast his glance downward and said in a small voice. “I am, father.”

_You don’t have to be — you should not have had to be._ “And why is that.”

If Thranduil had been honest, he would have admitted that Legolas was teary, but he dismissed that remark for it made him uncomfortable. His son replied with not a steady voice. “Because… because you always are, father.”

That perplexed Thranduil, though he kept it hidden. “I am?”

“Yes… You are dedicated to your work. You have assembled more and more patrols and troops. You are determined to hunt down those… those orcs.”

His perplexity dissipated and was replaced with alarm. His effort to comfort Legolas had been taken solely as his revenge for the Queen. Legolas had been oblivious to Thranduil’s purpose all this time.

Legolas went on earnestly, ignorant of his father’s thoughts. “I am ready. I will do everything in my power to help you achieve that goal. I will stop at nothing.”

“You are wrong.” It came out harsher than he had meant, and Legolas flinched. A drop of tear brimmed and finally fell. The sight prompted Thranduil to do something that surprised even himself: he rushed to his son’s side and brushed it away.

Legolas stiffened and said hurriedly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Thranduil said, with much softness this time. He bent down to kiss Legolas first on the cheek, then on the lips. “Those words are mine: I am sorry.”

And as soon as he said it, he could sense that the glass began to crack. Thranduil then realized that the glass that divided him as his son was not surrounding Legolas, but himself. Both the glass and the distance were his own creation; they were the hiding place for his own guilt and pride— and fear as well. He had been guilty of his powerlessness to preserve the mother of his son, and too proud to apologize. Legolas had trusted him all along — it was Thranduil who did not trust his son enough to reveal his true self.

He looked at Legolas again: his son was wearing a confused expression. He touched his thin lips absently. And there Thranduil found his fear: no matter how he looked at Legolas, the only thing he saw was an immeasurable pureness, which he feared to touch lest he destroyed it. That pureness he had inadvertently harmed with his pride, and now he felt impossibly guilty.

Finally and desperately, he decided to shed the last of his pride. “I should have said this long ago, but I love you, my son.”

And the glass shattered. Thranduil sat down on the bed and pulled Legolas into his lap. Legolas complied quietly, tears flowing down his face. Thranduil placed a hand on his son’s cheek and pulled him into another kiss, deeper this time. Slowly Legolas began to respond, and Thranduil tilted Legolas’ head to deepen the kiss. When they pulled back, Legolas said breathlessly. “I love you too, father.”

Thranduil licked Legolas’ lips, and licked again. This pureness was what he feared: this pureness was what he wanted to preserve. But on the other side of his fear of destruction was the knowledge that he had the power to destroy it in his hands. The stronger the fear, the greater the temptation. He licked those lips again.

The thought and his son’s proclamation alone had made him hard. He knew it was not conventional that a father should have this feeling for his own son, but he could not deny that this sensation came with the power that every father possessed over every son itself. Besides, since Legolas was purer and more beautiful than the rest, and Thranduil was a King, the most symbolic kind of fathers, the temptation was almost irresistible. He dove in for another kiss, with a hand in his son’s golden hair.

“Do you want to see your real father?” He asked with determination. Legolas was panting and his face was red. His son nodded quickly as if he did not want to allow himself time to change his mind.

With that consent, Thranduil ever so gently got his son out of his formal robe that he had insisted — though his plea had been taken as if it had been an order — he wear to the feast. Thranduil nibbled the inside of one pale arm while his fingers rolled the two perk nipples. Legolas’ body responded very readily, for his son was young and inexperienced. Thranduil felt a warmth expand in his chest when he realized how much Legolas trusted him.

“Adar…” Legolas purred softly. Thranduil led Legolas’ hands to his own shoulders and held his son’s hips to prop his body up in to a kneeling position. He brought his own erection from under his silk and rubbed it with Legolas’. The young elf’s sensitive member started to leak pre-come without delay, but while Thranduil managed to hold back his moan, Legolas let it out.

“I am going to do it.” Thranduil poised his own saliva-slick finger to Legolas’ entrance and Legolas let out a wheezy ‘yes’. The initial insertion caused his son to jolt towards him, trapping their erections between their hot bodies. Both moaned in pleasure and passion. Thranduil moved his finger around and inserted more. He found the prominent gland in no time and brushed it, making Legolas writhed and cried out in a high-pitched voice. “Ah!”

He removed his fingers and replaced it with his own erection. Legolas was virginally tight, but Thranduil was patient and rocked it in inch by agonizing inch. Legolas’ inside, though not too welcoming, was calming and urging Thranduil on at the same time. He tried to hold back, all the while attempting to sooth Legolas, “Shhhh.”

Legolas responded with a half scream. It was his first true breach, not by fingers but by his father’s shaft, and it was much more than he had expected: it was pure agony. Legolas forgot his own determination in the haze of pain and tried to scramble away. Impaled as he was, he could not move without hurting himself, but he still attempted to back away from the offensive shaft, only succeeding in dragging Thranduil with him, who grunted in return.

“Legolas, Legolas… It’s your father. It’s going to feel good soon.” Thranduil attempted, rubbing circles into the small of Legolas’ back. Legolas tightened his hold around his father’s neck and nodded. When Thranduil was fully seated, Legolas was pressing his sweaty brows to his chest. His son lifted a pained gaze up at him and Thranduil realized just how much Legolas trusted him. He felt the same. The tie between them was sealed with this initial union.

He started to move, hitting Legolas’ prostrate every time he drove in. Already on the brink of orgasm and a virgin, Legolas came at the third thrust with a scream that was muffled to his father’s chest, his channel tightening around Thranduil. Thranduil was in control at first, but as the warmth that engulfed him flexed spasmodically he lost himself and dug deep. This love was not a selfless love like how he loved the Queen, but a self-love. He loved his son like he loved himself, and with it come possession, a certain degree of arrogance, pride and love of challenge whereas boundaries disappeared. He plunged into Legolas like how he masturbated: rough and reckless, unmindful and unrelenting, because this was his own flesh. As a king he represented his realm, but as Thranduil he represented himself, and the kingly side of him kept telling him that nothing could daunt him.

Thranduil never took his eyes off Legolas’ face which was pressed against his torso: he wanted to capture every expression his son made. The time Thranduil was inside him was long enough for Legolas to grow hard and came for the second time. Now he was panting and almost passed out with an overload of sensation.

Thranduil came inside Legolas with the memory of a distant past, from the time before he came to love the Queen and had known only to love himself. So this was it: his fear, his temptation, his love — all of it were but the love for himself. He felt dirty. He felt like he would never be worthy of his son’s trust. But as if knowing what he was thinking, Legolas looked up, his expression soft and gentle, his blue eyes almost glowing.

“Thank you, Adar — for trusting me with this side of yours. It felt so good like I have never known before…”

At those words, Thranduil felt rather than knew that tears dropped from his eyes. He was overwhelmed, for Legolas truly understood and gave him more than he deserved. Instead of rejecting him for his fear and uncommon feeling, Legolas accepted Thranduil’s trust and gave his own in return. With his own fear off his chest, the loss of his Queen finally caught up with him and more tears poured out. He cried into the top of his son’s golden head.

After Thranduil calmed down, he eased out of Legolas’ body with a wet plop and Legolas’ toes curled. He laid Legolas’s head on a pillow and made to get off the bed to pick up a towel but Legolas hung on to the hem of his robe. “Adar…”

“What is it, love?” Thranduil went back to the pillow and put both arms on each side of his head, hovering over him.

“I… I want to ease the pain …from your loss. That’s why I’ve been trying my best…” Legolas slurred and Thranduil silenced him with a kiss.

“I know. That’s what I have been trying to do as well. But it seems like I didn’t do as good a job as you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The characters mentioned belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. No offense was intended nor profit made at the use of these characters.
> 
> First of all: I apologize for taking so long. So many things happened and my routine was kind of disturbed. Allow me to hereby conclude this long and senseless story (lol). On a look back, I am surprised that I decided to tell such an obsessive, unhealthy and long-winded story in the first place. It was a fun idea at that time. But I hope the message that I want to convey remains: that of an unconditional, spiritual and very very passionate love born from absolute trust. I hope that everyone has at least some fun reading this? I was stumbling and erring in this fic and it's far from perfect, so I thank you all for your patience and kindness. You all mean a lot to me :)


End file.
